Stolen Relic
by LittleLokiFox
Summary: One second, Loki is surrounded by dust and he can't breathe. The next, he's trapped in a cell, being displayed by the Collector. And all he can think about is his mother and when it all went wrong. Why couldn't things be simple?
1. Chapter 1: Collected

**I DON'T OWN MARVEL!**

**A/N:**

_Hi, reader! Thanks for clicking on this! {puts a party hat on your head} _

_Welcome to "Stolen Relic," where feels and such abound! I just rewatched TDW, and it got me in the mood to make an AU. I call this piece of work an AU because, instead of being a tricky little Jotun, Loki lies there on __Svartalfheim. _

_Why? Well, if I had gotten impaled, I'd feel like crap too...and so does Lokes. And then the following events occur. This happens right after Sif and Volstagg leave the Collector's place. (NO COMIC ELEMENTS). Sorry this chapter is short! _^^;

_A note on my other story, "Where Home Lies" (which I recommend if you like the idea of Loki and Tony being bros in an alternate universe). I'm working on the next chapter, I've just been very busy...and it'll be long! THERE WILL BE NO SLASH. Not here, nor there. Boom._

_Now, I'll shut up so you can read. Please leave a review or favorite or follow! {pulls up curtain, revealing story}_

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Collected<strong>

The Collector waited silently until the pair of Asgardian warriors were out of sight before turning to face the woman behind him.

"Well?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Did you finish it?"

She lifted her hands to reveal a compass-like device clasped between her fingers. "Yes, sir," she said softly, "this will detect its magic. What do you plan on doing with it?"

"Displaying it, of course. What else did you think I'd do?"

She was silent, staring at the floor as he grinned evilly and spoke once more. "Transport me to it."

A heartbeat later, he appeared in a dark, volcanic area, shadowy clouds of dust billowing around him. The Collector sniffed, disgusted.

"Rather dreary for a powerful, magical being to live, is it not?" he asked himself.

"Of course it is," he answered his own voice, taking another glance around. "Aren't we going to find it?"

He rolled his eyes and began to trek down the rocky, shady hills. Wind whipped up shards of rock, swirling them into the air. A stone rolled away from his foot, nearly tripping him as he squinted through the black dirt at a glitter of grimy gold and torn green and black.

_What could _that_ be? _the Collector wondered quietly. He jumped over a fallen boulder, his gaze never leaving the glint of colors. He knelt down when he at last came to them, putting his face close to them. He suddenly drew his neck back like a snake; shock washed over his face.

It was a _body_. He—the Collector decided it was a he—was barely breathing, his sides rising and falling in slow, short breaths, and he was shivering. His chest area was a violent red, and a deep wound was visible in his chest. Blood trickled from his mouth, running down his chin. Strangest of all, the high readings of magic were coming from _him_. Radiating from him, to be more precise.

"Might as well bring him back, nurse him back to heath," he said to himself, lifting the man onto his shoulders. "He looks pretty young; it can't be his time yet."

As soon as he touched the young man's hand, he was surprised at how cold it was. He was alive—hardly—and he shouldn't feel that icy.

"I guess I could put you in my collection."

The man's eyes fluttered open; they were bright emerald-green, almost _glowing_ through the dust. Then, they closed once more.

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><p>Loki awoke to a relaxed feeling in his muscles. The last thing he remembered was looking up to see an oddly dressed man standing over him, and then carrying him away. Before that, Thor screaming as Loki closed his eyes for many heartbeats. He had enjoyed that sound, but at the same time, it tore at his heart. The small Jotun shook his head, trying not to snarl when he discovered he couldn't move his arms or legs.<p>

He lifted his back off the ice-cold iron table, crossing his eyes to see the straps around his wrists and ankles binding him to the surface.

_Whoever did this…! _Loki couldn't finish his thought without a growl rumbling in his throat. Well, at least his captor had the decency to patch up the gash in his chest and mend his clothes. His golden armor shone in the bright light, and his green and black clothing looked soft. His knife was still in his belt, which was a relief—he was given it as a gift from his mother when he had come of age. Oddly, hunger didn't chew at his stomach, nor did thirst claw at his throat.

"Hello!"

A voice, echoing in the bright, white room. A strangely dressed man paced onto the room, closing the door behind him.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" he inquired.

Loki stifled a sharp, sarcastic murmur, and instead replied smoothly, "I suppose so. If only you could kindly untie me, I would be grateful."

The man ignored him. "I am the Collector," he introduced himself in a grand tone, bowing deeply. "If you become one of my favorite relics, perhaps I'll tell you my real name."

"_Relics_?" Loki repeated, emerald eyes going wide, body going as rigid as a branch, ice flooding his veins. Then he adopted his usual, menacing tone as he glared furiously at the Collector. "I am no one's pet, nor anyone's trophy!"

The Collector's brows knitted together. "I'm not making you a pet…I'm displaying you."

Loki thrashed against his bonds, snarling and hissing like an enraged dog. "No one will _display_ me! I am a king!"

"What kind of king lay dying in Svartalfheim, of all the realms?"

"None of your business," Loki growled dangerously, teeth bared.

"Where are you from, lad?"

Loki turned his head to the right, staring at the blindingly white wall. He has no right to do this! "I'll _kill_ you!" he screeched, whipping his head around to glare furiously at the Collector. "I'll rip your arms off and shove them down your throat!"

The Collector vanished from the room out the door with a call of, "We'll be settling you into your cage at noon tomorrow! Get some rest, treasure."

Snarling under his breath, Loki tried to wrench his arms and legs free of their bindings, but they didn't even tear. _Treasure…is that all I am? A caged relic? A deformed monster, fated to be locked up?_


	2. Chapter 2: Impounded

**I DON'T OWN MARVEL!**

**A/N:**

_I'm sorry this chapter is so short! Next one will be longer, this one...it was stubborn. Very. Loki sings "Carry on My Wayward Son" by Kansas here. I like the lullaby version; I listened to it here. :)_

_lederra: _Thank you! Hope ya like this chapter! Thanks for being so patient with me!

_fantasiedreamar: _Thanks! I love your profile picture, by the way. :)

_Armand: _I'm glad you think so! Thank you for reviewing!

_paintpops: _Thank you so much! Yup, I'll update until...well, who knows actually? (lol)

_angrbodagiantess:_ Brilliant minds think alike! (fist bumps you) I hope you like what I'll do with it!

_WARNINGS-blood and feels and 'violence' (sorta)_

_Please review! I hope you enjoy! (opens curtain to reveal chapter)_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Impounded<strong>

Loki was shaken awake by small hands. He opened his eyes quickly, confused—_when did I fall asleep?_—but still hissed and pulled back from the gentle touch. A blurry, feminine face hovered over him, looking blank and emotionless.

"Still," she ordered coldly, continuing to weave chains around his wrists and ankles.

"Be silent, girl!" Loki snapped back, jerking away angrily. "I am a king, and I will not be ordered around by a mindless—"

"The Collector said I am free to muzzle you."

Remembering the feeling of cold metal on his face, silencing his pleads and snarls for mercy, curses against the Avengers and Odin muffled into nothingness, Loki closed his mouth and looked away bitterly; the _last _thing he wanted was a muzzle. He glared at her so she would know she had not won this argument.

"So, how'd he get you?" she suddenly asked, making Loki inwardly scowl.

"_Get_ me? I was dying from a battle wound on Svartalfheim. If I had tried to get away, I would have died, fair lady."

"What were you doing there in the first place?"

Loki wanted to snort _dying_, but he decided against it. "Avenging my mother's brutal, unjust murder."

"Did you?"

"I did," Loki replied proudly, happiness flickering up from his chest. "Though I…I wish she never would have died."

"Was it your fault, you think?"

"I…I would prefer _not_ to think about it." Loki looked down at the concrete floor, trying to think of anything but Frigga and Asgard and Thor—

_Did Thor ever defeat Malekith? Or did he…did he…_ The Jotun didn't finish his thought.

"How did you wind up here?" he questioned to take his mind off of his 'brother.'

"I'm a Light Elf that can't use magic and looks Asgardian. Plus, one blue eye, one white blind eye. I was a pretty sickly kid," she joked, winking her azure eye. "My parents named me Fjola, but here, we don't have names. We have numbers."

"And?" Loki inquired, stretching his neck out to study the chains snaking along the floor, trying to push down his annoyance. _This girl talks quite too much._

"Mine is 1746. Yours is 138, so you get one of the _special_ cells." She finished with the chains and walked over to a hook to bolt them to the ground.

Loki swallowed at the thought of being called a meaningless set of digits and forgetting his true name. But did he have a true name any longer? _Loki Laufeyson…I would rather _die_. Loki Odinson…that is the _worst_ possible choice. Loki Friggason…I like that._

The Jotun blinked as Fjola left the room. He felt a wave of sadness at being left in the blinding white light, trapped in between four groups of iron bars, swamped with thoughts of Thor and Frigga and shivering from nightmares of Svartalfheim and Algrim. Then again, he was happy the curious elf was leaving; if there was one thing Loki didn't like, it was a game of questions. He did not foresee himself being around her in the future.

The bars to his right quivered, accompanied by the rattling of bars. Loki turned his head from where he was sitting against the concrete wall, his movement making the chains around his neck, which were also bolted to the wall, clink. "Do you mind?" he said hotly, anger burning in his stomach.

The snake-tailed bull snorted at him and stomped away to his corner in his cell, curled up. Its tail hissed angrily at him. Loki ignored it and stretched his legs out, chains clanking softly. Bored, he began to whisper a song his mother—his mother—had sung to him so many times in his childhood. She would stroke his dark hair and stare into his emerald eyes and give him his plush fox to snuggle with and sing:

"_Carry on my wayward son_

_There'll be peace when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don't you cry no more…_"

He let his voice drift off as his eyes fluttered shut in sleep.

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><p>Loki awoke to the smell of blood. It tickled at his nose, reminded him of his attempted domination of Midgard, making a vicious part of him grin inwardly. He did not regret anything about his actions; other than his failure. <em>Perhaps Thanos will not come for me.<em>

He opened his eyes and looked around, vision trying to adjust to the shadows. _Twilight, I suppose. _He looked over at the bull's cage, only to hold back a dry heave. It had ripped off one of its cage bars and…

The Jotun screwed his eyes shut, swallowing and trying not to breathe in the scent of blood. _Is this what it smelled like when Mother died? Or did her body still smell of new books and lavender and spring rain? _He inhaled, somehow able to pick up the familiar fragrance of his lost mother. _I denied her…I made her hate me…_

A flash of pain hit him in the chest, adding to his nausea. "I'm sorry," he whispered weakly, pulling his knees up to rest his head on them, the leather of his outfit making him feel like he was home. _Where is home now?_

Loki stayed awake and stared at the bars until sunrise.


End file.
